


if.

by halowrites



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halowrites/pseuds/halowrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from the "ask me what happens after the end of any of my stories" meme, because lilysaid asked this: <i>I want to know what happens after Just Ask, baby.</i> and apparently, this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if.

It's been weeks now, and Justin hasn't really thought about that night at all. Things are the same as they always were-- Chris still leaps on Joey's back without warning, hooting and hollering, until Joey wrestles him to the ground. Lance still flirts outrageously with the roadies, and JC still falls asleep in the middle of the afternoon during their rare days off, his mouth open and his hair all mussed up in crazy corkscrew curls. Justin doesn't think about it at all, not even when he's walking around with his skin hot and buzzing, his cock thick and heavy between his legs. Things are the same as they ever were, and if he sometimes glimpses Lance's fingers resting on JC's thigh late at night, or the way Chris' mouth looks slick and red and used when he passes Justin in the hotel corridor, then Justin knows all he has to do is ask.

But he doesn't. He can't. He wonders if there's a statute of limitations on these kinds of things, if the offer still stands two months from now, six months, a year. If he asked JC in 365 days, would the answer still be yes?

 _If_. Always if.

Justin thinks about _if_ a lot, late at night in his bunk, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, lying still and quiet, listening for the sounds of JC and Chris breathing, waiting for the smallest shift in the inhale and exhale, for the sound-- any sound-- of movement, because then, he knows. Countless nights, countless miles swallowed by the wheels beneath them all, and he always times it just right, biting into the soft skin of his forearm to keep from making a noise.

In the early hours of morning he wakes and kicks his sheets off, the cotton bunched damply at the end of his bunk, his skin shimmering with heat. He was dreaming, shades of blue and green, the ocean maybe, slipping through the waves as easily as breathing. Justin licks his lips and tastes salt, sweat beaded there, not from the sea at all. He slips soundlessly from his bunk and pads to the small kitchen, finding his way in the dark easily. The light from the fridge is startling and bright when he opens the door for a bottle of water, and he closes his eyes as he opens the bottle and takes a long swallow.

"'Morning," someone says softly in the low light, and Justin feels a shimmer of heat pass close by, the brush of skin against skin. JC, faded grey sweatpants low on his hips, and a smile curving across his lips. His fingers touch Justin's for the barest of moments as JC takes the bottle and lifts it to his lips. "Early," he says, and starts to drink.

"I was dreaming." Justin watches JC's throat as he swallows the water, the smooth, sure line of it. "Swimming. In the ocean."

"mmm." JC wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sounds good."

"Yeah." Justin doesn’t know what else to say, is suddenly, fiercely aware of the small space between them, the gentle rock and sway of the bus in motion, and it's taking all his concentration to stand still and not stumble forward into JC. He reaches behind him for the edge of the counter, his fingers finding it gratefully, holding on tight.

JC grins. "Sleepy?"

"Um." Justin shakes his head. He's not now, not anymore, is wide-awake.

"Good. There's something I’m wanting to ask." JC's fingers, curling around his wrist, pulling him away from the counter, and Justin can't do anything but follow JC to the dimly-lit lounge, already helplessly, hopelessly turned on.

"Would you do it for me?" JC asks, spreading out on the couch in a sleepy tangle of limbs, propped up on one elbow, his other hand trailing across his belly, lower, then lower still. "While I watch you?"

Justin nods, not trusting his voice, not needing to say anything more. Not even needing to ask what JC means, because he knows he's not the only one who lies awake in the dark. He's always known. For a moment he's not sure how or why or what the hell he's going to do, even if somewhere inside he knows he's only thought about this a hundred times or more. He takes a breath and closes his eyes, letting the motion of the bus move him, running his hands over his thighs, across his chest. It takes him all his time not to come in his pants, especially when he hears JC's breath hitch a little. _You have no secrets now_ , Justin thinks. _I know exactly how you sound when you're turned on._

That thought is all he needs, and Justin opens his eyes again and climbs onto the couch beside JC, shifting until he's straddling JC's thighs. If JC wants a show, he's going to get one. Justin smiles, heat already blooming in his belly, through his chest, pebbling his nipples up hard and tight. He trails his fingers down his stomach, small circles over his belly, round and round again, slowly letting them slip further and further beneath the waistband of his shorts. He brushes across the damp tip of his cock, hard beneath the thin cotton, biting back a moan at the tiny jolt of pleasure it brings. Again and again, until his fingers and the front of his shorts are slick and wet.

JC's shifting restlessly beneath him, the outline of his erection clearly visible beneath his sweatpants. The sight and the sure knowledge that he's responsible for it prickles along Justin's skin, fills him with dark heat. He shoves his shorts down, and wraps his fingers around his cock, pushes his hips forward and arches his back, rocking forward into his own hand. It feels so good, being close enough to JC to feel the heat shimmering from his skin, to feel the way his hips can’t help but lift in time with Justin's strokes.

Justin wants to make this last forever, but he can't, he knows he can't, it's too good, too much. When JC's hands curl around his hips to pull him closer, Justin lets himself fall, his thighs already shaking with the effort of holding back.

"baby," JC breathes, all deep and throaty, and it should be the most ridiculous thing ever, like porn movie cheesiness, like a lame line from a chick flick. It should be, but it's not. Not with JC's breath hot against his neck, JC's mouth and teeth, with JC's clever fingers tugging gently on his balls, because it's somehow the hottest thing Justin has ever heard. He's suddenly filled with irrational, stupid jealousy toward everyone JC has ever called _baby_ like that before, wants to claim the word for his own, to hear it slipping into his ear like it is now, chased by JC's tongue.

"JC," he says, unable to stop the helpless twist of his hips, "JC," his hand moving faster now, faster still, fierce heat gathering in the pit of his belly with every upward stroke. Justin bites his lip and surrenders himself to it, to the tiny ripples of warmth that are unfurling along his spine, tumbling through him in slow waves of pleasure. He's coming in his hand, all over his fingers, across his belly and JC's too, white-hot stars behind his eyes and JC pressing kisses to his throat.

He comes down in a soft grey haze, sticky-slick skin and JC murmuring softly, words or snatches of song lyrics, Justin's not sure. It's all a low hum in his head, and he lets it wash over him, lazily opening his mouth underneath JC's, tasting heat and spice and just beyond, the promise of something more.


End file.
